


Almost Certain Death: Five Vignettes from the Fall of Camp Tashoren

by Measured_Words



Category: Diablotin
Genre: Diablotin III, Gen, Military, Pre-Canon, Presumed Dead, Psyrene War, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-25 14:56:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3814678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Measured_Words/pseuds/Measured_Words
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five vignettes from the fall of Camp Tashoren to Psyran forces, through the eyes of Major Bryson Arguelles, commander at Birdur.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Tashoren had been built as a reserve base, but because of the mixed divisions assigned to it, it had become a depot for magical supplies of various sorts, on top of the regular munitions housed there.  It had never been considered a strategically important location, but it was full of supplies that were running very scarce for the Psyrenes.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Almost Certain Death: Five Vignettes from the Fall of Camp Tashoren

I.

The earliest reports Major Bryson Arguelles received confirmed his worst fear about what had happened to the missing artillery carriages. They'd been sent with an armed escort to reinforce the ongoing action on the Sakarsti line, but contact had been lost several days ago and they'd never made their second check-in point. There had also been rumors flying about insurgent activity near Tashoren, but none of the base's scouts had been able to confirm anything useful. They'd been on alert, but whether they'd been alert enough was something that they would be rapidly finding out.

Arguelles dismissed the courier, and read over the transmission again: Psyrene forces had breached the lines at Dortyol, forcing Imperial forces to fall back to the base. Camp Tashoren had some fortifications, but it hadn't been designed to withstand a direct attack, let alone one where the empire's best artillery was being turned against them. He sighed. The realities of war certainly had their way of demonstrating the irrelevance of intention.

Tashoren had been built as a reserve base, but because of the mixed divisions assigned to it, it had become a depot for magical supplies of various sorts, on top of the regular munitions housed there. It had never been considered a strategically important location, but it was full of supplies that were running very scarce for the Psyrenes.

The base housed three companies regularly – two infantry and one mixed division of infantry and sorcerers. The latter, the 424 (more colloquially known as the Lords and Ladies) had been his own first wartime command, before he'd been promoted and transferred to manage the logistics hub operating out of Birdur. Arguelles knew the troops, officers and enlisted, who would be facing this challenge. His gut told him that it didn't matter how good or how prepared they were, there was no way they would keep control of the base – a lot of people he'd worked with and trained could die. They would need somewhere close and secure to retreat to, which meant Birdur. The best thing he could do now was to make sure his current command was ready.

II.

Arguelles paced the communication office. The attack on Camp Tashoren had begun three hours ago, but there hadn't been any news in the past forty minutes.

The Imperial forces had erected some extra earthworks where they thought the Psyrenes were likely to hit them. Their sorcerers had been ready to do what they could to disrupt the expected artillery barrage so that they could try and get some men on the field without having them slaughtered. They'd had the base's own guns to return fire, as well, and they were well stocked with munitions, but Psyrene tactics had proved effective against stationary artillery. And, of course, the stolen Valent guns outclassed them completely.

The radio operator sat up suddenly, a look of concentration on her face. Arguelles paused his pacing, waiting for her report. 

"Sending from Warrant Officer Fernin, sir. Major Marcoux has ordered strategic withdrawal and they are enacting their emergency protocols."

He nodded. Sendings could only convey so much, but they'd become pretty efficient at packing information into the 25 words, mostly by using code words that stood in for longer sentences. They'd know more soon enough. There were a handful of sorcerers on the base who could teleport, and the protocols called on them whatever they didn't want falling into enemy hands and withdraw back to the rendezvous. They could start arriving any time. "Do we know who is covering the withdrawal?"

"Yes sir." She gave him a tight smile. "It's the 424."

He wasn't even sure if the officers were the same as when he'd commanded the Lords and Ladies, but he took a deep breath. LaVerdine had definitely been transferred, but as far as he knew Lail, Salmeron, and Suterre were still there. They would do their duty – he had his own to tend to now.

III.

The first to arrive were sorcerers who could teleport, transporting critical classified data and, in one case, critically injured personnel. By the next day they had the earliest contingents from Tashoren making it to the defensive line. The companies had broken into their smallest units to better evade Psyrenes lying in wait along the escape route. There had been a few minor engagements, but for the most part the dispersal served its purpose. The largest group, with Major Marcoux and her personal division escorting the wounded, arrived later in the day. Other squads trickled in overnight, and all had a few more details to report.

Captain Emeric Quiles for the 424 was one of these, and had insisted on making the trip all the way to Birdur to report directly. It was nearly one AM when Arguelles received him – he gratefully accepted both a seat and a drink when offered.

"I've already reported to Major Marcoux," he explained, grim and exhausted. "She gave me permission to ride on. I know the Lords and Ladies were yours, sir. I thought you might want to hear for yourself."

"I appreciate that, Captain." Arguelles was already braced for bad news. "We've had quite thorough reports of the battle until the beginning of the withdrawal, but accounts after that point are more spotty. Tell me what you can."

"We were the best choice to stay, sir, with the 567's losses. We broke into platoons, A and B on the east guns. Lieutenant Lail took a direct hit – sniper fire, we think. D'Avin took over command up there, but there was too much heavy shelling, and they had to withdraw. We bought the others an hour up there, but after that I ordered those remaining to disperse. The slicks were already sending in teams to clean the place out and chase after the retreat. We broke up into squads, stripping down what we else could. Lieutenant D'Avin took volunteers to sabotage the guns, and Suterre's crew was going to try and destroy the remaining supplies."

Quiles paused, shaking his head. "We ran into a few skirmishes before we made it to your lines. But there was an explosion at Tashoren, probably the munitions bunker. From what we could see the whole place was on fire. I don't know that any of the rest made it out, sir. I'm sorry."

Arguelles knew exactly who each of the lieutenants would have kept with them... If they'd managed to keep the Psyrenes from gaining too much advantage from the rout, then good. But losing three good officers still stung. "What about Lieutenant Salmeron?" Each of the four platoons in the company had their own lieutenant – Salmeron was the only one not accounted for.

"He was with the wounded under Major Marcoux's care, sir. He was stable, when I enquired."

One of three, then. Plus their men... The final tallies might not come for days. "Thank you, captain." It was hard not to wonder what he might have done differently in Quiles' place, and whether it might have mattered. But the 424 hadn't been his for months now. He hadn't made those calls – he didn't have to live with them the same way. All Arguelles could do was share that burden of loss. He poured them each another dram of whiskey, raising his glass.

IV.

Arguelles had allowed himself to catch some sleep, trusting his captains to coordinate efficiently. When he came to his office in the morning, a new pile of reports was waiting – he skimmed through them. There was little new. Some additional members of the Lords and Ladies had reportedly made it through in the early morning hours, and he was grateful for every name he recognized. But they brought another list – names of confirmed casualties.

Every morning, he set aside time for the hard letters, the ones to the next of kin. Sometimes there were days or even weeks of quiet when the ritual could be disregarded. There had been enough fighting the day before that the list of names from his current command was going to occupy him for some time. He knew that Quiles and Marcoux would have their own letters to write, that Quiles' job would be all the more difficult with no lieutenants able to support him, with other reports to compose... He was already writing. Arguelles decided to continue. 

The letters for the enlisted men were easier in some ways, as there were fewer of them that he'd known personally, and he could default to the standard letter he'd composed for the occasion. We regret to inform you. Your son/daughter/wife/husband was very brave. The Empire is grateful for their service and sacrifice. The rest was just details – battles, dates, circumstances if they were known. Officers were more difficult, especially ones he'd worked closely with, like Lail. There was too much to say. He'd even met Lail's wife, Lucinda, at a USO dinner right before he'd left Tashoren. He told her what he could, offered her his support and sympathy. D'Avin he hadn't known. That left Suterre.

Suterre was something of an enigma – it seemed almost fitting that his current circumstances were unknown. He was an officer who wasn't noble – that had been less common at the beginning of the war than it was now. But he was also a sorcerer who, unlike almost every other mage Arguelles had met, was not Castalia trained. Instead, Suterre had been through some sort of informal House Rat apprenticeship program. His posting to the mixed division had proven interesting, as he'd had some very different ideas about the kinds of training that would best serve the enlisted sorcerers. Arguelles still wasn't sure how much to attribute that to Suterre's own training, and how much to his other life experiences. 

Most of what he knew in that regard was hearsay – that Suterres' family, and he personally, had connections to some kind of underworld organization, and that these connections had somehow been responsible for his position. But Arguelles had never received any kind of official notice to distinguish him from anyone else who had attended one of the officer training camps near the beginning of the war. Suterre'd had a tendency to shun the company of his fellow officers in favour of those of his own class, fraternizing too closely with his troops. In some cases, he'd been known to eschew military protocols, as well. But in these letters it was best to dwell on the positive, and there was much to draw on. He was a good officer – competent, cool headed and quick thinking in battle, well liked and respected by his troops.

Arguelles started the letter with "Dear Mme Suterre." He wasn't married – his next of kin was his mother. "We regret to inform you that-" but that what? So far he was only among the missing. It had only been a day. Even if he was most likely dead, it would be better to wait. It would be better to offer a little more certainty to what was already a difficult message. For now, Arguelles set that letter aside, turning to another name on his list.

V.

By the next evening, the support lines were decamping to return to Birdur proper. The city was small and old, but through some ironic twist of fates, the ancient earthen ring that encircled the hill city offered excellent protection against modern artillery. Marcoux had already brought in Tashoren's wounded, who were being tended in a cluster of hastily erected tents in the town square. The healthy were crowded into the existing barracks, with the overflow housed in the town’s stables. Someone had suggested billeting with the townsfolk as well, but Arguelles was loath to infringe too much on the questionably good will of the locals.

With so many extra bodies, there was a lot of coordinating to do on top of the regular work. Luckily for Arguelles, the officers under his direct command were a competent bunch, and he rarely had much to do other than read over their proposals and sign his approval. Military bureaucracy being what it was, he was doing a lot of signing, trying to keep everything flowing efficiently. There were only occasionally issues that needed his direct attention or intervention – one of them was the impending visit from General de Béziers. The general had headed out as soon as he'd heard about the attack, but they didn't have a sorcerer to spare who could make the trip, and it was a two days from Isyene by vehicle. He was expected shortly.

They’d also received word from the last of the troops called off the support lines that they were on their way in, and that they’d managed to extricate a few more survivors from Tashoren. Arguelles hoped the two parties wouldn't collide, or at least that it wouldn't cause too much confusion when they did. To that end, he was consulting with Brother Jollet about the current state of the impromptu medical ward, in case there were any more injured. Space was tight, was the report, but they would manage.

On his way back out, he heard a commotion – the medical staff springing into action as per the plans just discussed. It was the troops returning, then, with incoming casualties. Arguelles kept himself out of the way, and was shortly gratified to see some familiar, if grubby and exhausted, men and women. He recognized them from Tashoren, and he knew they’d been with the 424, in Platoon C, with Suterre. Most sported minor injuries, though the more able bodied among them were carrying two stretchers. The soldiers that didn't have their hands full offered him salutes, which Arguelles returned briskly. He could put names to some of the faces – Enderlen's was hard to forget. There were two sargents, Desmey and Jillain. The rest he wasn't sure of. They would be ones to stick together, and to insist on looking after their own. Their lieutenant had the knack for instilling that kind of in-group loyalty even under more benign circumstances. 

Arguelles was concerned not to see Suterre with them, until he approached closer and realized that he was one of the forms on the stretchers. The other was a diviner, if he recalled correctly, but the name escaped him. The man's uniform was bloody but he had no obvious wounds – he'd likely been healed magically. Suterre had been stripped from the waist up, and bandages were wrapped around his chest and right arm. He looked pale and tired, but was at least conscious, and gave a nod. Before Arguelles could respond, a group of orderlies and healers descended upon them, taking up the stretchers and leading off those with more minor injuries for assessment. The soldiers were dispersed, more or less. Enderlen managed to stick with Suterre by claiming to be his batman – a claim Arguelles was certain was a lie, though Suterre didn't contradict him.

The orderlies carried him towards the overflow beds, and Arguelles decided to follow along. His aide, Lieutenant vak Andras, knew where to find him if the general turned up suddenly and, while a full report could wait, he couldn't pass up the chance to gather some fresh intelligence. The transfer from stretcher to bed was efficient if perfunctory, and Arguelles hung back while the orderlies did their work. Once they departed, however, he approached. Suterre, looking grim, gave a tight smile and a left-handed wave.

"Major. You'll have to excuse me if I don't salute."

"Of course. I'm glad you made it back. And your troops," he added

"It was a near thing, sir."

"What about Lieutenant D'Avin?"

Suterre shook his head. "Slicks took out her squad, sir, trying to secure the guns."

"I see."

"We got 'em back for that, not that it did her any good."

Arguelles nodded – there wasn't much to say to that. "Any other casualties?"

"Mostly just me 'n Harald, sir. He took a pretty bad shot, and we kept him up with potions. I just, uh, got stuck with bad cover too close to a grenade. They're callin' it low priority, anyway."

Low priority meant that he could be stuck waiting for quite a while before receiving any magical healing, or they might just issue him medical leave and send him somewhere else to recover on his own. Usually officers got bumped up the list, but there was already talk that all the 424 companies from Tashoren were too low on men, and that it might be best to consolidate them for now. An officer with no command was a different matter, but it would be a waste to leave someone with Suterre's talents to rot indefinitely. 

He was about to say so when his aide appeared at the entrance to the tent, following an orderly. Both looked overwhelmed and harried, and vak Andras shot him an apologetic look as she held open the tent flap. Major Marcoux stepped through, in company with General de Béziers. Arguelles snapped to attention, delivering a crisp salute, which the general returned with a grin.

"Major Arguelles! I haven't seen you since your mother sent you packing for school. I don't think she'd have thanked me for that recommendation letter if she'd have known it would land you here."

"Perhaps not, sir." He actually thought his mother would much rather he have the training, and a few more peaceful years, behind him when the war started, but this was hardly the time or place for that conversation. "Welcome to Birdur. I'd meant to greet you when-"

The general waved to cut him off. "It's a voided long ride all the way out here, Major, I was glad to stretch my legs. Marcoux's filled me in some, and I'll have the rest from you later." He turned his attention to the others in the room. "At ease." This was mostly directed to Enderlen, vak Andras, and the poor orderly who was stuck with them. De Béziers proceeded to ignore them for the moment to focus on Suterre, who looked like he wanted to sink into the hospital bed and disappear. "Lieutenant Suterre?"

"Yes sir." 

“Your squad were the last ones out, were they?”

“Yes sir.”

"Marcoux tells me you were planning to destroy Tashoren's munitions stores – were you successful?"

Suterre grinned, though the expression turned quickly to a grimace. "Yes sir. We blew the whole place up. Slicks won't be getting anything out of there."

De Béziers grinned as well. “Good job, captain.” He saluted, taking distinct pleasure at the confusion, the realization, on Suterre’s face. “You rest up. We’ll get your next posting sorted out.”

“Yes sir. Thank you sir.”

With that, the general nodded. “All right, majors, let’s go find somewhere a little more comfortable and you can continue your reports.”

Arguelles glanced back before following the others out, thinking that Suterre might not be all that grateful for the promotion – he’d never shown any interest in advancement, despite ample opportunities. But the Empire could use him and, with Tashoren lost, it was a good time for a fresh start.


End file.
